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You guys know how much I LOVE to make fun of egotistical fan sites, right? I found the best one today. THE BEST ONE. The site that makes Johnny Damon look as humble as the farmer in Babe. A site that makes Johnny Damon look as humble as dryer lint, really. A site that makes… well… why don’t you just SEE FOR YOURSELF.

Just when you thought it was safe to refresh your browser… THERE IS A VIDEO. A VIDEO, Soxies. With AMERICAN FLAGS.

So, I found THIS while looking to see if the juice king himself was really taking another shot at the ALE (he is, by the way, the ORIOLES, but that’s not nearly as laughable as that opening video).

It’s like the universe is wishing me a happy birthday. Seriously. There’s so much to make fun of! There’s the intro, obviously. The bio. The fact that his middle name is Aristides. The fact that he’s called a “fixture,” a star, a hitter… but not a juicer? Oh! And it says he’s a Dodger (way to update, Juiceter)- but makes NO MENTION OF HIS RED SOX TENURE! How interesting, because when I talk about the Red Sox, I make no mention of you, Juicy Juicerez.

Oh! Oh! Oh! And there are photos! There’s a whole clicky button for photos (they leave out this one, though). And a section for Kids! Where you can play him (yeah, you’ll see his name enough on the website. I don’t have to type it on this blog) battling aliens! It’s like you’re throwing baseballs at aliens, but to make it more fun, do what I did and imagine it’s a syringe. There are even T-SHIRTS. I would LOVE to meet someone who actually buys these T-Shirts.

AND- just when you think the website can’t get ANY BETTER- oh, it does. It does.

There’s a FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS page! Strange, though, in between his favorite cartoon (Anime? Really?) and favorite movie (the Matrix, by the way), there’s nothing in FAQ about his favorite steroid. Or his favorite place to inject. Or even his favorite mug shot!!!! I kind of feel cheated, you know? Manny, you know a lot about cheating…

So, as my me-Birthday gift to you, I leave you this amazing gem to make fun of. May it bring you as much joy as it did to me. And, of course, alien-hating children everywhere.

Despite the talent he flashed as a youngster, the two failed drug tests — in 2009 with the Dodgers and 2011 with the Rays — have stained his legacy forever.

And the drug tests are just part of my anti-Mannyness.

After savoring success, he succumbed to laziness. He became a lackluster defender in the outfield. He couldn’t keep track of his “injured” knees and milked the attention. He strolled down to first base as opposed to hustling on ground balls.

Imagine if Ramirez had the work ethic to complement his talent. He could have been destined to reign atop the all-time home run list and would have shattered many more records than he currently holds.

Rain delays frustrate me. Really, they do. But this one feels kind of justified. Because we’ve been having torrential downpours here for days. Years. Decades. Lifetimes.

Kind of only fair you get a downpour in Boston.

Apparently the delays are widespread, if Jeb the Pirate Princess’ Facebook frustrations are any indication.

“RAIN DELAY? BOOOOO!”

And several comments to that effect.

Stay dry. I’m in a ridiculous meeting right now. But I discovered internet access. And I’m in the back row. And my computer is on mute. Is it tacky to watch a Red Sox game in the corner? I mean, I’m here, aren’t I? And I’m taking notes. See my concentration?

Yes. This is perfectly acceptable.

Okay. Plan B. Let’s make this rain delay last long enough so that I watch the game when I get out of my meeting. Yes. Better plan. Rain on.

Remember that rain delay in 2009? I remember it like it was yesterday. Today even. What a terrible day. Kevin Youkilis, always the hero, gave us a lead. We were ahead by like, a million runs. And Smoltz was pitching? And then, after the rain delay… we lost. Like 11 to 10 or something insane? Damn Orioles. That was the worst day. Because my friend Doug and I sat there. Through it all. At a rinkydink bar in southend Charlotte. For like 6 hours. And we lost.

We get to leave Baltimore. Thanks be to Fisk. The whining, a shrill echo bouncing around in the migraines of our minds… might never fully go away. But for now, it’s a distant, distant memory. Onward toward the sound of a muuuucccccchhhhhh less whiny team: The Mariners.

See, I don’t think this is big news. I have ALWAYS said he’s got the speed… and when he gets the power, it’s going to be insane. Guess who got his power yesterday?

Jacoby reminds me a lot of early not-horrible-Damon. Remember him? The speed? How fun he was to watch? Then he started to get the power. And clearly his brain couldn’t handle it. And it turned to clumpy muck that exploded all over our hopes and dreams like a dynamite tumor of arrogance. I’m okay-I’m okay. It’s just hard sometimes. I need a minute. I have Youk now. I’m fine. I’m fine!

But Jacoby can do great things. I want him in a Sox jersey for the long haul. Think that can happen?

Daniel Bard is also streaking. So fast some of us hadn’t even noticed until the Boston Globe pointed it out. With Buchholz still on the mend and Lester not up to speed quite yet… it’s a good time for a streak.

Lance Armstrong is going to court. Lance Armstrong, who is a legend in the North Carolina High Country for saying Boone is one of his favorite places to bike, is denying any steroid use… but the questions have still been asked.

Anyone else think he sort of flew under the radar? He’s inconsistent. When he is good, he is very good. But when he is bad, he is… um… blah.

I don’t know. It’s hard, this transition. From being a JD Drew apologist to starting to see merit in the discussion…

Bill Ballou of the Worcester Telegram says there are a few reasons Drew’s still in the lineup:

Money is one reason. Even though Drew’s contract is almost up, the Sox still hope for one final hot month out of him to help them win in 2011. And I can’t imagine Reddick won’t take over in right field starting with this homestand when Ortiz’ suspension is done with. Drew’s career has, indeed, been a history of unfulfilled potential. It’s an interesting business, since he has made about as much money not fulfilling that potential as he would have had his career been as good as expected.

Thoughts? Is he really THAT bad? Can’t we put him the okay plus category?

And then I listened to testimony from a Holocaust survivor. Which was amazing in that masochistic-awesome-story-reporter kind of way… but horrifically depressing in a human kind of way. But kind of life altering in an amazing way.

And then I blew up at a copy editor. Which was amazing in NO WAY. And (despite “tantrum kitten” comments from my coworkers) it was not cute. It was dynamite in an entirely different sense of the word dynamite. The explosive, graphic, violent sense of the word dynamite. And then I had a town council meeting. Which was the crap icing on the crap cupcake.

SHITHAWKS, leave me alone!!!!

So I am NOT in the mood to be messed with, Baltimore. Do you hear me, Buck Showalter?

3-2????????

I will reach through this computer screen and install a new pitcher myself if you don’t fix this Weiland mess, Curtis Young. It will be bloody. It will be gritty. But I swear to Fisk I fill find a way to make it happen.

I wasn’t sure I was going to watch, honestly. But I talked to my mom on the way home from work just now and she said, “If you’re having a bad day, don’t watch this game.” And, like all real Red Sox fans, there’s something wrong with me. More with the masochism. So I don’t even skip a beat to change out of my miniskirt. I flip on the game. I will, however, make the bloodiest mary that ever Ketel One did make during the next commercial break.

—-

OHMYGOD I forgot about you, announcers. I forgot about you. But my brain didn’t. It hurts the instant you start talking.

—-

Do you ever imagine what your office would be like if it were filled with quicksand? Like, all of a sudden. Like, imagine all the office furniture slowly sinking. That’s when it gets a hold of you. The lines on the linoleum blurring as your feet slowly sink. Do you struggle? I hear that makes it worse. Sometimes I feel like my office is already full of quicksand. Metaphorical quicksand. And I’m just sinking, sinking, sinking. I don’t even struggle anymore. I think I’ve made my peace with it.

This game is kind of like that.

No. No! This game will not be like that! Damn quicksand. You can take me. You can take my office. And my pretty desk. And my “world’s best boss” cross stitch. But damn it if you will take my Red Sox. We will not go gently into that great night! We will not! Do you hear me? Pedroia hears me. Nice catch, buddy. Adam Jones, I hate you. I don’t know why. I just do. You must have earned this hatred in another life by doing something terrible. Like ticketing cars or something.

AND I’m getting texts from work! Hold me back, Youkie! Hold me back.

Crap. For a second, I imagined you were really here.

Another out. And bottom of the fifth.

—-

Gonzalez gets an out. I just sort of watch. No reaction right now. I’m still stewing. You know what would be neat? If my office just filled with water. And my desk could float. It would solve none of my problems, but it sure would be swell. I like water.

—-

Youkilis out at first.

Or jello. I don’t like jello. I don’t eat jello. I really try not to eat things that jiggle. It freaks me out, jello, because I’m not entirely sure what it is. I just know what it isn’t. Food. But it would be neat if my office was filled with jello. I’d like to take a picture of that.

Oh, bluecheese olives. You call to me.

—

And people keep calling me.

“Come to the bar,” Hannah said. “I’ll even let you watch the Red Sox game.”

And I turn them down. And you know how much I like the bar.

No. Only my bluecheese olives understand. Is it blue cheese? Or bleu cheese?

And Jason Varitek. He would understand. He understands a great many things, Jason Varitek. He is the captain, after all.

Hi, Buck Showalter. I enjoyed watching you on youtube today.

—-

“He just muscled that one.” Hell yeah, Reddick. I like you. You can be my official mistress. Youk won’t mind. It’s like King Henry tried to do with Ann Boleyn. Except I won’t divorce you, Youk. I just started watching The Tudors on netflx.

Crap. An out.

And we enter the 6th.

—

Jenks got an injection??? Oh. It’s just plasma. Calm down, Lauren. Google doesn’t always tell it like it is at the first glance.

I still don’t trust that guy.

—-

Damnit. Bottom of the 6. Reynolds finds a hole. We just kind of look at it.

Damnit.

One on first.

—-

I like Nolan Reimold’s name. But I do not like his team. Or his manager.

So much Sox love in that stadium tonight! Can you hear it?

I even see a Youkilis jersey. Worn by a girl. You want to fight, girl?

I’m in the mood for a fight.

—-

Thanks, Ellsbury. I think you’re swell. I need a joke. Anybody have a joke? Because my office just texted me again.

—-

Scut is on base. Hit number 8.

I hate Guthrie. He’s another whiner.

She whined.

—

DAMNIT. Called out on Scut’s steal. Okay. It looked fair. Fair but CRAPPY. Damn it, Scut…

Bottom of the 7th. Aceves. I am glad to see you. They’re talking about bikes being the reason Aceves is on the Sox? I don’t understand. Stop talking, announcers.

Angle has a Jorge Posada quality. Don’t you think?

—

Okay. The announcers just made a joke about whether Youk brushes his teeth. Do NOT talk about my Youkilis, stupid announcers. DON’T DO IT.

—

Okay. Aceves. You are doing your part. Offense… you have GOT to step it up. Hear me, Pedroia? I’m talking to YOU. Because you are the only one who ever listens to me.

I bet if we worked together you would listen to me.

You could have the desk next to mine.

Oh, what great adventures we would have together.

I’m going to write a children’s book about it.

Maybe.

I might. You don’t know.

And Hardy is out. Huzzah.

Okay, offense. It’s time. It. Is. TIME.

—

Oh no! I am sleepy. I do NOT want to fall asleep during this 8th inning too. I won’t. I won’t…

—-

WHAT IS ON YOUR TIES? Don’t they have people to pick those out for you, Baltimore announcers? Apparently not. APPARENTLY NOT.

Hear this shit? They’re talking about how it’s a true pitching duel, best of the best. Really? Weiland is our best?

—

Jim Johnson is on. Perfect chance for a rally. Guthrie, you should watch this.

—-

Crap. “Ellsbury is retired.” Just say he’s out, orange-tied jackass.

—-

WHY are we ALL aiming for first???? Stop it! Gonz, seriously. I can just see the post-game interviews.

On the plus side, if the O’s can win, they can say, “hey, Gregg, see how we win without your whiny ass on the mound?”

On the negative? It’s the fricking Orioles. COME ON.

—

ANOTHER GROUND OUT????????? WHAT THE FRICK?????

Where are our fricking bats?

Bottom of the 8th. There is no more time. Fix this. Fix it now, damnit. FIX IT. I could be watching The Tudors right now!!!

—

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Do you think Showalter has had laser hair removal on his face? Guys, tell me, is it possible to get THAT smooth a shave? EVERY DAY? Seriously. Thoughts?

—-

12 and 2 in the month of July. Do you guys reeeeeeealllyyy want to screw that up?

That was lovely. A lovely out. Courtesy of Pedroia. THE ONLY ONE WHO LISTENS TO ME.

Yessss. Close up on Kevin Youkilis again. Yessssss.

—-

No. He walks one. NO. He did that on purpose. Aceves!!!!!

Derrek Lee, who I remember because he misspells his first name, is on.

STOP SAYING THAT. “It’s a pitchers’ duel tonight.”

Um. No. A pitchers’ duel is like two extreme badasses. Like Cliff Lee versus Beckett. Like Holliday versus Lester.

Hi, Reddick. I’m glad you’re still here. I like you better than Sutton.

—

These announcers suck. 0-2, top of the second. Carl Crawford. Okay. But which Carl Crawford are you? Are you the badass batter or strike boy? Hmmm…

Oh. Apparently ground-out boy.

—-

Oh good. Yes. Let’s KEEEEEEP talking about Ortiz and Gregg. I’d much rather do that than PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT IS GOING ON ON THE FIELD. Seriously, announcers?

“It’s kind of ill advised what Michael did. It didn’t serve any purpose. It didn’t even hit them.”

I know, prick announcer guy. As soon as I figure out your real name, prick announcer guy, I will google you.

So, got a new mix for Bloody Marys. It is supposed to be “extra spicy.” It tastes like a tomato died in sugar and splatted in a microwave. Good thing I have my own horse radish and… wait for it… blue cheese stuffed olives!

—

I love you, Pedroia. I love you, I love you, I love you. That’s right, number 18. Eat it, sucka. Gregg, I hope you saw that from home. Or the showers. Or wherever they keep you in your shame. Pedroia and his anti-base-stealing-badassishness (am I supposed to call him a muddy chicken now? why?) save the day.

—

HOMERUN FOR SALTY! 2-1. And it was a pretty one, too.

Top of the THIRD. JD Drew is up. I would LOVE to see a homer out of JD. LOVE. LOVE. We all know I’m a Drew apologist. I’d really like a power bat to back up my loyalty.

—-

The “Let’s go Red Sox” guy is a lot louder than the Baltimoreans.

YESSSSSNOOOOOOOOOOOO. I really thought Drew’s ball was out of there. Caught. Crapnuggets.

—–

A single for Scuttttttt!

Announcers, please stop coddling the child pitcher. Bergesen is in the big leagues now. Let’s treat him like a big boy.

—

They are BOOING Jacoby. How can you BOO Jacoby? And he lets errrr rip. A single. Nice! Maybe if you hadn’t booed so hard Karma wouldn’t have hit you in centerfield, Os.

Oh, nice. They are replaying Pedroia’s 1:54 a.m. hit. Which is thrilling. Because at 1:54 I was in and out of a sleep coma.

Wow. Check out the bat chick. How do you get that job? I would be a greeeeaatttt bat chick. You know, because CLEARLY you don’t have to actually CATCH the ball. And I look damn hot in a ponytail.

I thought blue cheese olives would be fitting since the Orioles are so whiny. And they sure are. And only $3.59 at Ingles. I love you, Dustin Pedroia. YESSSSSSSSSS Base hit. LOVE it. Game is tied. That was one of those stand up on the couch, scare the crap out of your dog moments. Replay! Replay!

Oh. Of course. You’ll replay Ortiz-Gregg crap all day long. But we mustn’t show a kick ass hit again. Ohno. Hi, Gonz.

YESSSSSS. 3-2. 78th rbi for the GONZ.

Uhoh. I think I hear whining…

More vodka!

—-

Bottom of the third. 3-2. It’s like losing, but the opposite. I’m sure we’ll hear alllllll about that later from Bucky Boy. Think Gregg is watching? Of course he’s watching. Think the tears are rolling down his cheeks, or just welling in the ducts?

—–

YESSSS. Double play. Thanks to the Youkie-poo.

And… it’s phone shot time. I kind of have the best family in the world.

And I least I can PROVE my phone shots. Seriously, kids, without photographic evidence, how am I supposed to think you just downed it?

See how not lying I am?

Wow. That is the worst picture of me in the entire history of the internet.

Did anyone ever figure out what John Lackey did Saturday? Because I am curious.

Does anyone read this? Because I get loads of comments on live-blog posts. But they’re always when I’m not live.

—

Hi, Carl Crawford, “the only member of the Red Sox to NOT HIT IN THE THIRD INNING.”

Hey, the announcer said it. I didn’t.

It’s so nice not to be working.

Hi, Carl.

Oh, Maddon “let Crawford go,” announcer said, because of the Trop and its effects on Crawford’s legs. Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you didn’t get him. Had nothing to do with the moneys.

Yay! Base hit! Adequacy! You tell ‘em, Crawford.

Alright Salty. Let’s teach the O’s to spell your name!

Lester “is ready to go Monday.” Sweet.

Comeon, announcers. Let’s talk some salt. That’s Saltalamacchia.

“It may be last man standing… or, it could be Tampa Bay coming in around the corner…”

What corner, announcer? Seriously. Because the only corner they’re coming around is a coffin. Or time out. That’s less dramatic.

YESSSSSSSSS Sweet. I love it when they dive for it and smack into the turf. Two players. No catch. Thanks for making us look swell. But, got to warn you, PIE, get ready to hear some whining in the dugout. Bucky’s not going to let you get away with an error without a trip to the corner. The time out corner. Not the coffin corner. Hi, Drew.

YESSSSSS Crawford, comes around to score… what was that? Was it out? Was it safe? Replay it, damnit. It looks safe. It looks fricking SAFE. Is it? You suck, announcers.

Safe.

4-2.

“That’s the first one, error-wise, the Orioles have committed in seven games.”

Well, announcer, they are too busy whining to commit errors. Oh, and to win.

SAFFFEEEE. You’ve got guts, Scut.

Guts.

Loverly. Like in the song from “My Fair Lady.” The musical based on another play called Pygmalion.

—-

Out. Whatever.

5-2 Sox. Sorry, Gregg. You should bottle your tears. You know. To water plants. We’ve all got to do our part to save water. I wrote this article about it today. Want me to send it to you? Should I just address it c/o Time Out?

—

Okay. Two people have invited me to be on Google plus. What. Is. It.????

—-

HOMERUNREDDICK. Yay. 6-2. Are you watching this, Bucky?

—

Are you seeing these announcers and their ties? Seriously. Is that a Valentine’s Day tie?

—-

Felix Pie. Peee-aaayyyy. Sure. Okay. PIE.

—-

“So long as the knuckle ball is working he can pitch from now to 75,” announcer GARY says.

—–

Seriously? You let Pie get on first? That’s ridiculous. Did you see that? Wild pitch, he hail Marys it to first… now they’re saying it’s on Salty?

—

There’s a sign that says Hankook or something…? But just now, Andino is blocking part of it, and it just says Kook. Hah.

—-

“It’s the invisible baseball. It sort of just darts away.”

—-

Hardy gets a homer. 6-4.

—-

“The problem with a knuckler is when it doesn’t knuckle, it rolls,” ~Announcer.

—

Okay, Wake. Baby. Let’s focus. Okay? Focus. Tito, you watch him, k?

—-

I am about thirty seconds from muting these damn announcers. 6-4. Bottom of the 5th.

I want to be a baseball announcer. Seriously. I would rock at your life, announcer guy.

DAMNIT. Okay. 6-5. Homerun.

Alright. I love you, Wake. Really. I do. But it’s time for a rest, k? Tito, don’t you think it’s time for a rest?

“You can just watch Wakefield put his head down.”

SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP

But seriously, Tito. I think it’s time for a powwow. Come on, Curt Young. I can’t do this for you guys. Believe me, I want to.

STOP SAYING ONE RUN BALLGAME, ANNOUNCER JACKASS. We get it.

6-5.

“Keep in mind, the Red Sox had that 16 inning ball game last night.”

Wake looks sad.

Okay. Now I look sad.

DREW????

This game is making me SOOOOO glad I have blue cheese olives. You don’t even know.

Okay. I am using this commercial break to breathe. And calm my puppy down. Who ran upstairs and is probably in the bathtub.

Damn. It.

Seriously. Why? I need an answer. With words. In paragraph form. Stat. Go.

—-

FDA, is this because of that time I called John Lackey a water bug larva? Are we being punished? I know I look 12. I’m told that on occasion. It makes being a reporter super fun, let me tell you.

—

Oh God. Maybe the whining works.

—-

I would rather lose to the Stankees.

—

Come on, Wheeler. Come ON. 7-6 O’s, bottom of the fifth. TWO outs. Runners on second and third. This would be a gooooood time for an out. Thank you. Thank you, Dan Wheeler. I am naming my tomato plant Dan Wheeler in your honor, good sir. The beefeaters. Not the heirlooms.

—-

So, I was really excited to find the new Morningstar “spicy” breakfast sausage on special… but it is not spicy. It is full of lies.

—-

“Both bothered by a lack of defense behind them.”

SHUTUPANNOUNCERSIHATEYOU.

—-

Anddddd… MUTE. 8:47.

—

“Lackey’s the big question mark.”

SHUT UP. Yeah. So I lied about the mute. I was going to. I swear. I just. Um. Didn’t.

Jacoby Ellsbury is pretty.

Don’t tell K-Youk.

I see wayyyy more Sox fans than Orioles fans. Oh. And some pinstripes. Why are you in Baltimore?

Come on, Scut. Please hit the ball. In a scoring way. Not in a pop out way.

Swinging would help.

What did I say about popping out?????

—-

I can’t watch this.

—

Yes I can.

—-

Hi, Dan Wheeler. Did you always have that much facial hair?

—-

Okay. Moved computer to bedroom. Maybe I’ll sleep through the rest.

—

We’re fine. One run. And we’re on base. Thanks to kickass Jacoby. And Pedroia’s up. And there are no outs. All-in-all, it’s a good place to be. You know. If you’re the Sox.

I really hate these announcers. Top of the seventh.

Three balls. One strike. And one kickass Pedroia. Crap. Crap. Oh, thank you screen. Thought we were going to have a caught foul ball and a cranky me. And he walks.

Two on. And Gonz AND Youk coming up. We’re just fine. Just fine…

Gonz. He’s one for three.

Tampa Bay is leading the Yankees! Sweet.

Even though, honestly, I kind of wanted the Stanks to win so Joe Maddon could cry in his car.

It is amazing how many teams have been pissing me off that aren’t the Yankees.

Two balls. Two strikes. Gonzzzzz.

Okay. That was no strike. That’s a super questionable out.

Whatever.

—-

YESSSSS. Youkie. Hits. Jacoby. Scores.

Delightful boos rise up in Baltimore. Like Showalter, like fans…

—-

7-7. In the 7th. ONE OUT

—

Oh, now they call. Friends call at 9:16 trying to get me to go to the bar. Maybe you should have called two hours ago.

—-

An out. And Crawford comes. Up. 13 for 86 against lefties. Got to hit them sometime, though, right?

Pedroia and Reddick on base.

Would be an excellent time for a slam.

Ohno. I have not been paying close enough attention. Michael Gonzalez is pitching? Really???? Out. Whatever. “Crawford didn’t like the call.” I didn’t either, dear.

Seriously, that call was crap. Blue shirt announcer is totally trying to hide his lame Valentine’s Day tie with his microphone.

Oh. It does. It has hearts on it. No. Just… no.

Michael Gonzalez really shouldn’t be in this game.

Just saying. Guess his appeal wasn’t worked through today.

And…. Wheeler.

Still 7-7. It is 9:21. And I really might pass out. That’s sad.

—

Five relievers used yesterday. FIVE. That is insane.

—-

“Breath Lauren and play the drinking game. Every time anyone speaks Take a drink.” FDA gives the best advice.

Don’t mind if I do.

—-

Being a Red Sox fan can be a lot like being a Charter customer. You can’t help it and it hurts.

—-

Oh, Reynolds. That almost-homerun-actual-foul just made me terrify the dog again.

—-

Okay. I’m not going to argue. Really. But there’s something fishy going on in ump world tonight… 9:32. Still a tie.

Ohno. Please don’t let this game have 16 innings. Please?

—-

8th. 8th innings are great times for rallies. You can rally a tie. You can.

Michael Gonzalez is treating the mound like a slip ‘n slide. And I am having a lot of trouble keeping my eyes open. Seriously. If I pass out, you have to finish my play-by-play, FDA.

—

DO SOMETHING, MCDONALD. ANYTHING. Thank you. And he walks.

—-

I’m glad you helped an old lady, FDA. Because I accidentally shut the door on one. It was an accident….

—-

Just add more vodka!

—

That does the opposite of wake me up.

Seriously. Michael Gonzalez should be in Gregg’s circle of pout right now. They should be weaving friendship bracelets and swapping handkerchiefs. Is Showalter crying? Do his eyes look puffy to you? Another walk would be nice. Still top of the fricking eighth. Scuttttttt.

—-

Yay. Hit. Yay. First and Second. Yes. Tired. But first and second. One out. We will score. Because of FDA’s old lady. And because of God. Anddd stuff. Tired. Jacoby is up. He is o for four against M-Gonz. But that was before the whiny week. Surely he has been inspired by the whining. oh, the incessant whining. So tired. Faddding. Fading fast… oh the typos I have to fix before I click “update.”